Me, Pete, & Lager

I lost my virginity twice, at least, and it happened during my second year at University. Both times alcohol played a big part. The first time was with the course bike - she sucked me off after a party and all I really remember was her spitting my come into a hedge. We went out for three days and I went through three condoms. I don't remember it with any fondness.

Pete and I had been mates since we met up in our first year on the same course. He was about six-foot - taller than me - with dark hair and a tan. Well-built. We tried out for a few teams, and both ended up playing football (soccer if you're a Yank). He was one of the first fellas I ever saw completely naked, in the showers; heck, he was one of the first people of either sex I saw naked, and he saw me.

It was two months after I'd been sucked and fucked by the course bike, and Pete and I had gone out for a serious binge-drink with the rest of the footballers; a pub first, then a local club. Everyone had been on the pull; I'd already started to wonder about whether I was into cunt or not, or whether my disinterest was due to my bad experience. We matched each other pint for pint, and Pete and I staggered back to his place at chucking out time after a bit of a dance. When we got in, we popped a few cans and sat down to listen to some music and "set the world to rights." Both of us were hot and sweaty; Pete opened his shirt and for some reason I found it very erotic, even though I'd seen his flat belly and hairy chest many times before.

As we were talking, I admitted to my experiences with the course bike, and he told me he'd fucked her in his first year and she'd given him a dose. We laughed about that. We then got on to sharing sex stories - well, I say sharing. He talked about sex. We had another can, and then Pete started complaining about the lack of pussy in his life. He said something about wishing his bro' Steve was in town. Then he went for a piss.

Pete had a twin called Steve. I'd met him - big lad like Pete, nasty sense of humour. When Pete staggered back I asked him what he'd meant about Steve and he got a bit defensive. But we were both pissed and he finally admitted that he and Steve had helped each other out when they were single. I didn't immediately get what he meant and he told me they used to wank each other off when they were horny. It'd started after Pete came to University one night.

I was so turned on I actually stopped breathing for a moment, and I could feel the blood beating in my ears (and starting to beat in my cock). Pete was quick to point out that neither his bro' nor himself was gay. Steve had a girlfriend now, and they hadn't "done each other" in eight months or so. Although he did admit that he and another fella on the team had mutually wanked each other off on a trip, but he wouldn't say who.

I asked him what it was like and he said it was okay and if you shut your eyes you could pretend it was a woman doing it. He hadn't had sex in six weeks and he was worried his balls were going to explode. He laughed and then I just said "I'll give you a hand, bud."

He just stopped mid-laugh and stared at me.

"Well its not as if it's a gay thing" I said, sort of meaning it at the time, "It's a buddy thing. We're buds, right? We should help each other out."

Pete looked really worried, and like he was sobering up quickly. He immediately said it'd be different than with Steve . . .

I laughed then and said "What, because we're not actually comitting incest?" and then he laughed and he lay back on the sofa with his arms resting on the sofa-back and I knew it was going to happen, and it was gonna be okay.

I shifted from the chair and sat down heavily next to him on the sofa. I could smell the heady man-sweat stink of him - we'd been dancing, remember - half-maksed by his after-shave. He was breathing fast and not looking at me.

"So what now?" I asked. "Do you get your dick out or do I?"

Pete grabbed his beer and took a deep gulp before saying, real fast, "Whateveryoulike, bud."

He was wearing blue denim jeans, with a button fly. My hand was shaking as I reached out and started to undo his buttons. He took anotehr swig of beer and opened his legs slighty. My hand was brushing his dick, and it was hardening down the side of his leg. Once I'd popped the last button open, he grabbed my hand and said, seriously (but still slurring):

"You sure you want to do this?"

And I just reached in and cupped my hand over his balls through his sweaty boxers and looked him straight in the eye when I said "You trying to talk me out of this, bud?" and I squeezed a little. My heart was hammering away and my own cock was hard as an iron bar in the confines of my jeans.

"Fuck no! But if we do this, we don't say a fucking word to anyone, right buddy? They'd maybe get the wrong idea."

"Fair enough" I answered. I had no real idea what to do, but I started to gently squeeze his nutsack and he let out a long sigh and grinned, and passed me another beer.

"Help me with my boots, bud. Its easier if I get my trews off. Then I'll do you, yeah?"

I dropped off the sofa, removing my hand from his crotch, and sniffed at it for a moment. It was full of his smell. I untied Pete's shoelaces and he kicked them off, then he started to fumble with his jeans. As he lifted his arse up, I pulled them and dragged them down - they caught on his cock for a moment and he grunted, then they were down round his ankles, then they followed the shoes.

He sat there in his open shirt, beer in one hand, black socks, curly hair on his shins and thighs, and his boxers half pulled-down revealing the dark frizz of his crotch-hair. His prick was lying down one leg, and where the head lay there was a moist patch of pre-cum. He opened his legs akimbo, and mesmerised I reached in and slipped his meat-and-two-veg over the waistband of his boxers. His dick sprang straight up in front of me. It was a good length (not that I was any judge at the time), nice and thick, the foreskin already half-pulled-back and dribbling from his slit. I knelt up and reached out to touch it, looking up for approval. He had his eyes shut, his head thrown back, and he lifted his hips slightly so that his soft silky prick pushed and nuzzled my palm. I closed my hand over it.

It was like a solid rock, wrapped in some velvet softness. I slid the foreskin back and marvelled at how it looked, his cockhead read and inflamed almost. I'd never seen an erect penis in real life before, apart from my own. I started to work my hand up and down in slow, easy strokes like I enjoyed when I was tossing myself off. Pete sighed a deep sigh and took another swing of beer. His dick, amazingly,got harder in my hand as I worked.

Without opening his eyes he said "Don't forget my balls, man."

I grabbed his heavy sack in my other hand and he yelped, opening one eye.

I nearly came in my trousers when I realised Pete intended to return the favour. I stroked and tickled his nutsack and he squirmed a little, but I kept my firm pressure up on his shaft. It was so hot in my hand. Every time I moved my hand up, his fat cockhead disappeared inside his foreskin, and when I worked the shaft back down again it popped back into view, glistening now. I wondered how it would taste.

"Does Steve ever suck you?" I asked, keeping up the tight grip and the gentle pressure on his balls.

Pete didn't answer for a moment or two, and the only noise was the gentle slapping of me working my mates meat. "Yeah," he said after a moment.

That was all I wanted to hear. I leant forward, clumsy, taking my hand off his balls to steady myself, and I pulled his dick straight up. I could smell its tantalising smell of sweat and cum and maybe a little piss. I poked it with my tongue, on the underside. It tasted salty. So far so good. Still holding him firmly, I ran my tongue from the base, just where it joined his frizzy bollocks, up to where my hand was. Pete gulped some more beer and started to breathe really heavily. He started twisting his left nipple roughly in between his finger and thumb, and showing his teeth as he grimaced in time with my squeezing of his nuts. I closed my whole mouth round the underside of his hard penis, and he gasped out loud again. He nearly dropped the bottle when I let go of his prick and slid my mouth up and over the top in a move the class bike had used on me during our first blowjob.

I couldn't believe I was on my knees in front of Pete, and I had his manhood half buried in my wet gob. It tasted of salt and sugar at once and I knew that I wanted more. I sucked, hard, and Pete yelped; then I licked it, rolling it around in my mouth, putting my hands to work on the rest of the shaft (now starting to get soaked with my dribble and Pete's sweat). I gently palped his balls, and kept lashing and rolling his sensitive helmet in my gob.

He was muttering nonsense as I worked, the sort of stuff you say at a time like this - oh yeah, that's it, do it, take it bitch - that sort of thing. In retrospect it was funny, but at the time . . .

Pete groaned again, dropping his beer bottle, and started to stroke my head. My prick was swollen and ripe, ready to burst at any moment. As I got more confident, I began to move more, and Pete slowly began to lift and drop his backside, moving his burning-hot dick in my mouth in time to my amateurist swallowing.

It happened completely without warning; Pete suddenly went still and his legs tensed - I thought he had cramp - and he flung his arms out, lifting himself up off the sofa, his sweaty bare arse leaving the cushions. His cock filled me too full, nudging my throat and I nearly puked, pulling my head back away from his shaft reflexively. A great sticky wad of jizz slapped across my lips, and some went up my nose. I managed to catch the second spirt on my tongue, though, and the third filled my mouth with my best-mate's sex juice. I swallowed it, and Pete didn't know quite what to make of that!

He collapsed back shivering as I squeezed the last of his white spunk out, covering my knuckles, lapping it off his belly and chest. He didn't complain, and I loved the roughness of his hair on my tongue. As I cleaned him, he started to snore, meaning I had to finish myself off - that was no hardship. I just knelt over and scooped my own cock out, beating it hard and fast as I stared down at the detumescing tool I'd had in my mouth moments ago, a mixture of dribbled spit and dribbled cum pooling on his leg and his sofa, and when I came I managed to hit his leg with the stream - it didn't wake him up, though.

I sat down on the carpet, my hands and my face covered in a combination of my spunk and his, and I knew that I was going to do this again, and soon. I wondered when Steve would be visiting next.